


Of Course

by standalone



Series: Teachers AU [3]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/standalone/pseuds/standalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chronologically, this fits at the end of May in <em><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5898043?view_full_work=true">This Is Mr. Pitch</a></em>, but I wasn't sure about sticking it there.</p><p>On its own, well, it is what it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Course

He doesn’t say it back right away. He should. He really should. He can hear Agatha in his head, and Ollie, and Bunce, and Delphinia, and basically everyone he cares about (and trusts to have his best interests at heart, which is why Ari doesn’t make the list), gently admonishing or berating or teasing him. 

_If you feel the same, Basil, you really ought to say it back._

_Tell him, fuckhead._

_He adores you, Pitch._

_Darling, there is no time like the present._

But something in him—perhaps he’ll attribute it to Ari, because this is almost certainly the advice she’d give, were she apprised of the full magical maelstrom that is a fuck with Simon Snow—says _wait for it_.

This is not to say that Baz doesn’t _show_ it. He does. He is tender and solicitous and particularly handsy with Simon the whole way home. They take the stairs so they can fling each other up against the walls at each landing, and once they finally make it up to Baz’s floor, Baz practically dragging Simon out into the hall, they plow through his door and straight to the bedroom.

Ari’s not due to visit soon, but Baz casts some spells just in case.

Then he has to drop his pen because Simon’s stripping his own clothes off in frantic clumps and god damn, Simon can be an awkward lunk, but Baz has never seen anything sexier to him than this.

“Don’t move,” Simon says, kneeling over him and pushing him flat onto the bed.

“I assume from the pushing that, despite instructions, you meant me to lie down,” Baz says. 

“Right. Don’t move _now_.” He rolls his eyes and runs a thumb down Baz’s face, across his lips. He lets it sit there for a moment and just watches—his skin on Baz, his eyes on Baz, clear and blue and unfrightened. His love. Baz sees it. Inside Baz’s chest, fists clench and unclench to release terrible flocks of butterflies, the millions of tiny wings beating the air to bits. 

Baz is fully clothed still; Simon is naked. He reaches down to caress Baz through his pants. “You’re ready for me,” he says.

Baz raises an eyebrow. “Always.” It’s almost true. 

He’s not sure if Simon’s breath hitches, but he likes to think so. It would bode well.

Baz isn’t supposed to move, so he doesn’t. Simon undoes his buckle and buttons and pulls it all down just enough, and Baz would object because it does seem fairly undignified to have sex still nearly fully dressed, but Simon’s in charge here. He was the brave one today. He gets to choose. 

Simon kneels high over Baz’s cock for a moment, his slippery hand running roughly up and down its length, coating it, and then he lowers himself so suddenly that Baz is caught off guard and, instinctively, thrusts deeper than he ever would at this juncture.

Simon’s eyes are locked on him. “Yes,” he hisses blissfully. “Like that. Hard, Baz.”

“May I move?” Baz inquires politely.

“What?” Atop him, Simon is trembling with joy. “Sure, yeah, whatever you want. Just give it to me.”

From their idle sprawl, Baz’s hands shoot forward to grip Simon by the hard, curving lines of his hipbones. “Simon,” Baz growls. “I will _give you everything_.”

A sharp crackle in the air announces the surfacing of Simon’s magic. He knows what’s coming. He _thinks_ he does. He _wants to think he does_. 

The light in those eyes. It’s not to be believed. 

“Simon.” Baz pushes in so deep that he can almost feel them fusing. “You’ve known it forever, but I’m telling you now.” Gripping hard, he lifts Simon up, almost off of him, so that when Simon crashes back down, everything will happen for him at once. “Of course I love you.”

He knew this would happen. He knew, and he did it anyway, so it would be absolutely his fault if the room caught fire, if they exploded into cinders, if the entire United States of America vanished from the globe, replaced by a crude carving: _BP + SS_. But that won’t happen. He cast some spells beforehand, right? Sometimes, Baz Pitch knows how to anticipate disaster.

Still, as he plunges back into the depths of Simon’s body, the magic hits him like a reservoir through a compromised dam, torrents of feeling that would bowl him over if he weren’t already flat on his back.

Baz thought he’d seen it all before. He’s seen the want, the need, the cockiness and lust and joyous, boundless curiosity. But now he sees fear, too, and neglect and shame and hurt, a past knotted together of broken memories and unfamiliar beds. There’s terror. 

And mixed with it, surging through it in the flood, is acceptance. Baz thought Simon was a risk. But for Simon, loving—at _all_ —is a risk unlike any Baz will ever know. And Simon has made up his mind. This is the risk he will take; if he loses everything, it will be because of Baz, because Baz cannot love him back as he yearns with every muscled fiber of his powerful being to be loved.

And here Baz strings him on, waits to tell him till _now_ , knowing full well that Simon is quivering with the ache of his need for Baz, for Baz in all the ways, and Baz knows, Baz _knows_ , and he tells him _now_ , when they’re connected, when he knows it will throw Simon into full-on overloaded brain-melting _magical sharing mode_ , and Simon loves all of this so much that it makes him want to punch and cry and flee and fucking god damn it, Baz, _belong_.

 _ **“You fucker,”**_ Simon breathes, hot honey and sizzling circuitry. He knows exactly why Baz waited. _**“Oh fuck, I love you. You feel it?”**_

Baz feels it so hard. 

**Author's Note:**

> Back to [June](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5898043/chapters/15007597)?


End file.
